


From Across the Room

by aliassmith



Category: Supernatural
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-04-09
Updated: 2012-04-09
Packaged: 2017-11-03 07:54:01
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,150
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/379082
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aliassmith/pseuds/aliassmith
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Cas discovers a new way of keeping Dean quiet.</p>
            </blockquote>





	From Across the Room

_“What started out as a traditional soccer riot has quickly escalated into a city-wide-”_

Click.

_“You’re nineteen feet tall. Why are you wearing heels?”_

_“Are you feeling diminutive?”_

_“No, but now I have to go look up that word.”_

Click.

_“...just add it to your rinse cycle. For a snuggly soft wash, try-”_

Dean shut off the tv and slumped back against the headboard of his bed. He wasn’t sure what to be more pissed off about-- the fact that he was stuck sitting in a motel room in Assbuttville, Nebraska, with nothing good to watch on tv, or the fact that he was stuck sitting in a motel room in Assbuttville, Nebraska, with nothing good to watch on tv and everyone ignoring him.

It’d been three days since the rain started. Three long days of sitting around watching Sam and Cas scour through book after book of sketchy prophecies and ancient pagan rights, reading and taking notes about demons instead of just going out and killing them, because of course they couldn’t actually go hunting in this weather—even the god damn spirits had gone to ground.

Dean had been fine with it on the first day. He’d sat at the table with Sam and circled things on post-its and only laughed for like a minute when Sam pulled out his I-couldn’t-be-more-anal set of highlighters and started color-coding everything. But then Cas had flown in, and he and Sam had got to talking, and Dean realized pretty quickly that all this research they’d been doing? Was for the fun of it.

Sam was looking into some prehistoric ritual thing that Cas had mentioned to him once, because he thought it was _an interesting way to fill the time_.

Needless to say Dean disagreed.

After that he’d gone and found himself a Bruce Willis marathon to watch and left Sam and his highlighters to it. He’d even tried to do Cas a favor and rescue him from his fate of musty textbooks and dead languages by tempting him to the dark side with promises of beer and explosions, but Cas wasn’t having it.

_His loss_ , Dean shrugged. Cas was still new to all this being-on-Earth stuff, it’s not like he was gonna know right away that Bruce Willis with a rocket launcher automatically trumps deciphering Sumerian tablets. Still, with Cas sitting pretty as his own boss these days, and the Apocalypse finally over and dealt with, Dean figured he had plenty of time now to teach him these things. No need to rush it.

But all that was two days ago, and he’d run out of Die Hards at least twenty-four hours back. He didn’t mean to sound like a third-grader or anything, but Sam had had his time with the damn angel. It was Dean’s turn to play.

Dean shifted and sighed and stretched til his bones popped, then shifted and sighed some more.

No reaction from the peanut gallery.

Sam had his nose so deep in a book Dean was pretty sure he was holding himself back from just giving in and making out with it. Cas was sitting sideways at the tiny motel table, staring at the laptop with his legs stretched out in front of him and leaning heavy on an elbow in a way that was all too human. Dean couldn’t help but grin at that. Seemed like every time he saw the angel these days, he’d lost a little more of that stick from up his ass. Might not be too long before he started showing up minus the trench coat, even, but Dean wasn’t about to hold his breath for that one.

An hour away from the books, though. That wasn’t too much to ask, surely.

He could’ve tried coaxing, complaining, or asking them flat out, sure, but he’d done all that already, and all that had earned him was quick brush off from Sam and a vaguely annoyed look from Cas.

If Dean wanted their attention, he was gonna have to play it smart. Smooth. Subtle.

He picked up the tv remote, turning the set back on and messing with the volume control until it was loud enough to be distracting but not obviously so. He flicked through the channels (all four of them), pausing just long enough between each press of the button to make it look like he was settling, then flicking over to the next one.

He got through eight rounds of that before finally getting a reaction.

“Dean.” One word form Cas. Not even a look—like whatever was on the laptop screen in front of him was so fascinating that he couldn’t bear to tear his eyes away from it. Not good enough, Dean thought. He pumped the volume up a skosh and kept on surfing through the channels. News, click, sitcom, click, commercials, click, weather, click, news...

“ _Dean_.” Cas said again, this time looking up. “I think it’s safe to assume there is nothing of interest on any of the channels. Browsing through them repeatedly won’t change that.”

Dean made a show of turning off the tv, holding Cas’ gaze and shooting him a look that said “Happy now?”

Cas just nodded his approval and went back to the computer. Dean didn’t bother to hide his scowl.

Rather than going back to the tv, he settled for drumming his fingers, slow and steady against the hollow plastic of the remote.

Tap-tap-tap-tap. Tap-tap-tap-tap. Tap-tap-

“Dean.” Cas’ eyes locked onto his right away this time.

Dean raised an eyebrow and kept drumming.

Cas made a sound that could only be called a growl, and the remote ‘magically’ leapt from Dean’s fingers and flew across the room, very nearly smacking Sam in the side of the face.

“Jesus, Dean!” Sam’s head shot up, brows drawn together like a parent looking to scold a naughty child. “Would you quit playing around?” he picked up the remote from where it had landed beside his foot and tossed it back onto the bed before Cas could think to stop him. Dean dove for it with glee, smirking at Cas’ serious frowny face.

Dean gave it about ten and a half seconds before he was tapping again, his eyes never leaving Cas.

It took another few seconds before the remote went zinging from his hand a second time, this time embedding itself in the wall above Dean’s left shoulder.

“Security deposit, Cas!” Dean barked. “Damn it.”

“What?” For someone with hunting in his blood and three years of college under his belt, Sam could be surprisingly oblivious.

“Nothing. Cas is being a dick.” Dean grunted, reaching over his shoulder to recover his toy.

“Oh, _come on_. Can’t you two be in the same room for more than three hours together without baiting each other for once? Please?”

“He started it.” Cas huffed what may have been the third best thing Dean had ever heard come out of his mouth.

“Did not.” Dean smirked, really, _really_ wanting to hear an angel say “did too”. Cas didn’t rise to the bait, though—just glared a little harder than usual and turned back to the laptop.

Sam shot Dean a pissy look for continually interrupting his “me” time or whatever, so Dean offered him a tight shrug and left it at that. The talking, that is. He had the remote all curled in his hand, ready to start up with the tapping again when he felt first one, then all of his fingers just _freeze_. He couldn’t move them, couldn’t even feel them—it was like some kind of instant numbing agent injected directly into his hand. Dean panicked for half a second before remembering who exactly was in the room with him and was probably still pissed about the whole getting-yelled-at-by-Sam thing.

“Cas.” It was Dean’s turn to growl. Cas was ignoring him, though, so he grabbed the remote with his free hand, aiming to throw it at the angel’s head. He only got as far and wresting it out of his own grip before he felt the fingers in his second hand freeze.

“Ca-” Dean ground half the syllable out then felt his jaw lock up. It was like feeling your own flesh just dissolve—kind of fizzy for a second, then nothing. He couldn’t move his face, could barely move his head, and his hands were led weights against the bed. He darted his eyes over to the table, starting to get a little panicky now, but then he felt it—the strongest, most intense stirring of sensation flooding back into his skin. He knew straight away that he could move again, feel again, but he didn’t even bother trying. He just sat, slumped, breathing hard against the headboard, trying like hell not to let out the moan that was trapped in his throat. It was like he could feel every cell, every atom in his hands and face, and he was feeling them for the first time. Everything was tingling.

Oh yeah. Definitely awesome.

Cas was watching him now, smirking. He’d heard the bitten off noise Dean hadn’t wanted to make, and was looking more than smug about having finally found something that had Dean actively trying to be quiet.

Dean could see the menace in his eyes and was torn between attempting a hasty getaway and begging for another round.

As it turned out, Cas wasn’t looking to let him choose.

The minute he saw Dean’s hand twitch where it was still curled around the remote, Cas launched another wave of attack, and this time he wasn’t limiting himself to the hands and face.

Dean felt the tension spread over his neck, across his shoulders and down his spine. His thighs flexed and tightened and before a second had passed he wasn’t able to move so much as his big toe.

Cas didn’t wait long before unfreezing him this time around, clearly more intrigued by the after-effects of his little petrification process than by Dean’s disgruntled impression of the tin man in need of an oil can.

When the feeling flooded its way back into Dean’s body it was like liquid fire burning cold. Tiny sparks fired along every single one of his nerve endings, causing the hair on his arms and legs to stand on end and goosebumps to break out across almost every inch of his skin. Everything was magnified—his heart was pounding like he’d run a mile, his breath coming in pants and sighs, and even the brush of fabric from the shirt on his back felt like heaven against his sensitized skin. Dean cracked open his eyes, not remembering having closed them, and was met with Cas’ intense stare. For an angel, Cas was looking awfully flushed.

He gave Dean almost a full moment to catch his breath before doing it again.

Dean felt his entire body fade into nothing—all at once this time—then his feeling return the same way. It was like a full-body dunk into a vat of ice-water, if the ice-water was pure ecstasy and the plunge left you shaking and overwhelmed with pleasure.

And hard, apparently.

Dean’s gaze snapped to his crotch, which was most definitely perking up at the sensation.

It was like he’d gone from zero to sixty in point three seconds, his cock pushing firm and insistent against the seam of his fly. Dean flushed, looking up to where Cas had followed his line of sight. Apparently denying everything and making a quick retreat into the bathroom was off the table. Dean flicked his eyes over to Sam, who was thankfully still ensconced under his pile of research and wasn’t paying any attention to the avoidant stares shooting between the angel and his brother.

Dean shifted in his seat, uncomfortable for so many reasons. He couldn’t help but notice Cas’ eyes flick up at the movement, the look on his face... not what Dean had expected.

Embarrassed, yes. Awkward, sure. But if Dean didn’t know better, he’d say Cas was... interested, maybe. Almost captivated. Looked like Dean finally won out against the laptop as the most fascinating thing in the room.

He shifted again and, sure enough, up shot Cas’ eyes, wide as saucers and focused solely on Dean’s dick.

Dean cleared his throat, smirking when Cas realized he’d been caught. Dean couldn’t fight the enjoyment he was getting out of seeing the angel flustered. Dropping one hand over the bulge in his crotch, the other still gripping the remote, he shot Cas a grin brimming with bravado, and winked.

Then he started tapping again.

About fifteen different emotions crossed over Cas’ normally stoic face, and Dean barely had time to register the look of wicked vengeance that finally settled there before he was being pulled under Cas’ sensory deprivation spell again.

This time, when Cas lifted the hold on him, he did it slow, unhurried, Dean would’ve said teasingly if it were anyone but Cas doing this to him.

First it was his fingers and toes, then his arms. Dean could feel the blood pumping through his veins, his pulse pounding in his ears as Cas undid his handiwork, mojo swirling across Dean’s body like a physical touch. The numbness disappeared, sparks lighting up his calves and thighs, flickering over the sensitive skin behind his knees and reaching upwards. That cold fire of awareness licked against him, rising up his chest and tightening his nipples where they rubbed against his shirt. His hands twitched in an effort not to touch. God... he wanted to pull the fabric closer, stretch it tight against him. He wanted to drag it off and spread himself over the sheets, to feel the thrill of chilled air hitting his naked skin.

Dean’s eyelids were fluttering open and closed, soft breathy pants escaping his lips as Cas turned his attention to Dean’s face and neck. Long licks of sensation lapped at his throat, at his jaw, the skin behind his ear. Dean could feel his earlobe, something he’d never given thought to before, but holy shit did it feel amazing. He could feel Cas’ power fading out from his temples and scalp, brushing over his lips and tongue. This time he couldn’t stop the choked moan from stuttering its way up from his chest. Dean had never felt so much so fiercely in his life; wasn't sure he could stand it.

Cas freed every inch of him from his hold, waiting until the very last to release his cock, which stood frozen, hot and hard, between his thighs. Dean tried to swallow, he knew what was coming and figured there was a good chance the top of his head would blow right the hell off when Cas finally, _finally_ made his move, but at the same time he was desperate, _hungry_ for it.

The touch came, lighter than Dean expected, moving in tiny brushes up the length of his shaft. He could feel the weight of his balls first, the skin of his taint and the flush at the very base of his dick throbbing to life. Cas grazed his way towards the head, and Dean was surprised to feel himself coated in a wetness as the skin burst to life higher and higher. There was precome dripping down his dick, soaking him, making him slick. He could feel the wet warmth of it sliding against the fabric of his boxers as he thrust his hips a little, unable to stay still. The sweep of Cas’ invisible touch finally circled around the head of his dick and just like that he was free. It felt like all the blood in his body was rushing to that one place, leaving him aching and hard, harder than he could remember being. He could feel whatever part of Cas was with him—his presence, his touch—leaving like a parting kiss, with a final flick into slit of his cock, electric like lightening, fucking _amazing_.

Dean’s back arched against the headboard, his body going tight and still, but this time without Cas’ influence. His fingers clutched hard at the remote in his hand and the sheets beneath him, and he opened his mouth in a wordless cry, coming long and hard, still trapped in his jeans.

He couldn’t move. It was too much. If he moved he would black out and then Sam would look up and he’d know, know that Dean just came in his pants, untouched, because of a god damn angel of the lord.

His fingers clenched into fists and he could feel the broken shards of the tv remote stabbing painfully into his right hand.

“Dean.” Cas’ voice broke into his reverie, a hint of worry lacing his tone.

Dean closed his eyes tighter, not ready to open them and face Cas after that. This is not how he’d expected his plan to end up. He’d wanted Cas’ attention sure, but there was a hell of a long way between getting someone to notice you and whatever this had been. Dean was fairly certain some lines had been crossed back there, he just wasn’t exactly sure what to do about it now it was over.

“ _Dean_.” Cas called again. Dean grunted and threw the destroyed remote in the general direction of Cas’ voice. There’d be no more movie marathons now. That much he could blame on Cas, at least.

“Damn it, Dean! I told you to quit messing with that.” Sam toed at the pieces of plastic on the floor and glared at his brother.

Dean’s eyes snapped open, ready to lay at least some of the blame on the real guilty party here, but then he caught sight of Cas-- lips swollen and bitten red, sitting there blushing and perched on the edge of his chair as if ready to run. Dean’s stomach flipped and his breath caught in his throat, and the next thing he knew he was fisting his hands in the sheets again just so he wouldn’t reach out and touch. Cas looked so damn innocent and confused, like he was overwhelmed with something but didn’t know what. For a second there, Dean seriously considered helping him find out.

Instead he got to his feet, ignoring Sam’s bitchface, and locked himself safely behind the bathroom door.

The motel was just crappy enough that he could still hear their voices through the wall while he cleaned himself up. Sam was all exasperation and a hint of mocking, probably because of Dean’s speedy exit, while Cas spoke with a tightness and restraint that hadn’t been there earlier.

Dean paused and leaned his forehead against the door, just... _breathing_ for a minute or two. Long enough for the voices to die down, anyway, and for him to hear the very clear sound of Cas’ frustrated fingers drumming a rhythm against the tabletop.

Dean smiled to himself and opened the door.


End file.
